Hero High 3

[Crezth]

“We're not going to get caught - the janitor knows me.”​

Name

Afirid Jin Wushima (神巫师魔)​

Age

16​

Gender

Female​

Place of Birth

Samarkand, Uzbekistan​

Height

172 cm​

Weight

70 kg​

Appearance & Costume

When out on the town or on her own, she likes to wear something fashionable and stylish. Her favorite outfits utilize red and black and she is particularly fond of her fancy red greaser jacket and likes wearing dresses. When she prefers something practical she is not above wearing pants - as long as they look decent.​

Personality

Jin is a born troublemaker and a rebel. She hates being stuck in any one place for too long and readily engages all forms of diversion and distraction, and she has little regard for authority or rules. Instead of going to class, she prefers to loaf around in the bathrooms and smoke a J; instead of studying, she would rather go downtown and cheer on street fighters or sneak into a club. At times smarmy self-satisfied b*, other times disinterested and jaded, she loves to party and get involved socially, and is not at all intimidated by traditional high school cliques and pecking orders. However, she lacks any serious passion, and a small part of her harbors some doubt and resentment about her life and future. Nevertheless, mischief and carousing keep her heart light, and she is master of living in the moment.​

Background

In the old Muslim traditions, it is said there are supernatural spirits known as jinn that wander the earth alongside humans, a mixture of smoke and fire - denizens of the celestial outer realm. Not angels, who serve the Lord, nor demons, who rebel against the divine order. Jinns, who are capable of receiving God's grace, and live on the fringes of every realm both material and metaphysical.

Not all who come from hell are evil, and Jin Wushima is as good an example of that as any. Jin was born as "Afirid" in the human world in the city of Samarkand to two ifrit jinn who lived secretly among humans. When she was still very young, her father lost a bet with an evil shayatin who sold them all as slaves to a demon lord in hell. Her mother was also separated from her in this time, although she remained with her father. She thus grew up in a run-down part of hell, home of a large jinn diaspora, the slave of a slothful demon king. Her father descended into drinking and self pity, and Jin attended the mandatory schooling for all members of the demon king's court, slave or no.

In the years that followed, she became quite rowdy, willful, and self-reliant, and she grew distant from her father and closer with kids from school. She was a slave, like many, but she had a sense she was destined for something greater. Something always set her apart from everyone else. It wasn't being a slave, as that was quite common for jinn in hell, but it was that she always felt a spark of rebellion. She skipped class, consorted with the wrong types, and in general flouted the rules. Her owner, a slothful demon named Wang-Kang, was too lazy to ever get involved with too much vigor, preferring instead to let his servants try (and fail) to control the girl.

As she grew older, her charm inspired Wang-Kang to try to make her his concubine (a tragically common occurrence in hell); that same day, Jin broke into her master's private vault and became implicated in the murder of one of his oldest concubines as well as the theft of the Amulet of Samarkand - the same item her father had originally lost a bet with Wang-Kang over.

However, the dubious status of the amulet as well as the overall lack of hard evidence did not dispose Wang-Kang to an overly public ceremony of indignation. It would not serve to execute her, at any rate, because as a jinn she was not outside god's grace; there was a very good chance it'd be a servant lost on the whole balance of good versus evil. And, of course, Wang-Kang was very lazy. So he banished her to earth, where she had originally come from, to live among humans - her soul still the property of the lords of hell.

She ended up in Tokyo, a long way from her native home of Samarkand. She quickly slid into the infamous hell that is the Japanese school system, and was roundly considered by all of the most traditional authorities and social mores to be an unwelcome influence. Nevertheless, she thrived in this environment, finding the seedy underbelly of Tokyo to be right to her tastes. It wasn't long, however, before her peculiar nature and odd abilities drew the attention of the right people, who quickly and discreetly disposed of her to the Tyler Roman academy. Human or no, she clearly could not be trusted to be around ordinary people.

In this time she started calling herself Jin Wushima, and writing her name 神巫师魔 - because she thought it looked cool, and also because she didn't want to pay any alum to her birth name or family. Her father and mother stranded in hell, she herself an orphan freak at some freak-show academy - well, time to make the best of it.
​

Talents

Jin is a naturally talented dancer and loves dancing; she also likes to play guitar and sing. The former talent she shares readily whenever she goes out to party, which is as often as she can manage; the latter talent she keeps mostly hidden, reserving for the rare quiet occasion when she is left alone with her thoughts, to recharge and to contemplate.​

Ability

Threat Level: 2
Power: Demon Magic (Fire)

As an ifrit, Jin has no small natural magical talent. Although jinns can vary in their magical powers, most ifrits are fire spirits, and possess a natural mastery of the element. Jin can conjure flames, throw them, create small explosions, and control fire in her vicinity. She enjoys the amount of mischief that this power grants her in the human world, but is slowly learning the importance of being discreet with it.

As a fire spirit, Jin is weak against water and, if completely doused in water, loses her powers for an extended duration of time or however long it takes for her hair to rekindle. Her hair, when lit, possesses a fiery quality that is somewhere between a blaze and a golden strand of luminescent fiber - no doubt a valuable material on the occult black markets or for sinister government research.

Finally, her demon magic allows her to perform some occult tricks and minor charms and curses that quite often have a material reagent or spiritual toll associated. The more powerful the hex, the greater the cost incurred. She cannot remove curses and has little understanding of advanced or divine magic, but knows infernal magic and hexes reasonably well. Witch-hunting stories amuse her so much she adopted the self-constructed name "Wushima" meaning "demon-witch." Her demon magic provides her the means of traveling to hell and back, although as she is officially exiled from hell she never does this.​

Electives

Combat Gymnastics, Tactics, Making Your Own Costume​

Club(s)

Fight Club, Jazz Club (secretly)​

Other

Blood Type: Jinn blood rapidly congeals into a smoking ichor after only a few minutes outside the body.

Favorite Food: Spicy Noodles

Favorite Color: Red

Favorite Party Music: City-pop, disco, EDM - anything with a beat!

Favorite Personal Music: Jazz/Blues​

 

[JamesCaesar]

Nathaniel would like to announce the founding of a club for those who wish to pursue music and the art of playing in a more serious manner than those in the choral club- the Dedicated Guild of Musicians (DGM, for short).

 

[jackelgull]

It's the middle of the night, Cyril is halfway sunk into a swamp carrying a dead body and to top it all off he's wearing white. Then he hears the telltale click of a shotgun being loaded and the day hits rock bottom.
"What are you doing here" the man with the gun hollers, and Cyril turns around and of course it's the very worst person to catch him like this. See, this dead body he's carrying was once a woman in the sleepy Florida town Cyril lived in. Her name was Lucille Bell, and this man was her husband. He also murdered her.
Cyril's only hope at this point was that the man himself didn't know that Cyril knew that. As far as the town knew, she just up and vanished one day and everyone thought, "good on her" because her husband being an abusive ass was common enough knowledge.
"I'm sorry sir, I was just taking a walk through the bog. It's really good at clearing my head and then... and then I found her like that. How horrible she must have run into a gator or something when she ran away." he says with a guileless smile he knew made him look about 10 times dumber then he really is (but really maybe he is that dumb considering he's out here, risking his life because a ghost had unfinished business). He even teared up a little for good measure.
The man looks skeptical as he growls "Your story makes no sense. It's twelve thirty on a school night. What makes more sense to me is that you killed her, and are trying to hide her body. Give me one good reason I shouldn't call the police."
"No sir, I didn't do nothing to her. I was" Cyril bites his lip and does a good impression of a scared and embarrassed teen caught doing something he shouldn't as he continues, "I was doing a dare with the Jeffries boys. I might've done some things I'm not proud of. But I swear, I just came across her in this swamp. I wanted to bring her body back to buried in town."
At this the man relaxes a little. Teens did dumb things for dares all the times. It didn't mean he knew anything he needed to be buried for. He was glad, it'd be difficult to hide two bodies and keep speculation from running amok. Two disappearances in a town this size was bound to get attention he didn't want.
"Move along kid, let me handle the body of my wife. I owe her that much. And this can be our little secret."
Cyril nods furiously, already making plans to trail the man discretely as soon as his back was turned.

 

[Red_Spy]

Handle the below story with care, you might cut yourself on its contents.
-----
Akane's Room, Kyoto, Japan
07:39 JST

Brown packing boxes were strewn across the off-white carpet of the room. They contained an assortment of items Akane owned, from clothing to books to school supplies to figurines, posters, and other knick-knacks. A small fan was the second-to-last object that she packed. As she finished placing it in the box Akane gazed over the last collection of things that needed to be packed: The robust collection of superhero manga sitting atop a pastel pink bookshelf next to her bed she had collected over the years. Setting aside the box in her hands she slowly got up and took a small step toward the bookshelf.

Her entire collection took up roughly two shelves, each bookended by spandex-clad figurines. Akane brushed her hand along the spines of her collection, silently reading the titles of each of the volumes. Some featured fictional heroes, others detailed the real-life exploits of figures such as the Scarlet Magician, Bolt, and Ms. Love, but all were about heroes who soared through the skies and fought evil. These heroes were the source of Akane's desire to be a hero, much like most other children her age. Children would run around the playground, mimicking the metahuman abilities they saw on television or in books, playing with each other, dreaming of the day their Gift would be given to them. And fortunately for Akane, unlike most others she did receive hers. Unfortunately for her, she hated it.

Picking up one at random, Akane narrowed her eyes at the cover of the volume. On it was the Scarlet Magician, wearing her signature red cloak and carrying her impressive magic tome, battling the Devastator, a long-dead villain who replaced his failing body parts with machines. She flipped the page, and continued to do so, skimming the pages and recalling the times where she enjoyed reading stories like this. That was before the day she discovered her Gift, before the days where her dreams were shattered by the jeers and insults of her classmates. All the nostalgia she felt for those innocent days were tempered by her feelings of being left-out, of being shunned for something she wished she could give back. How many times have her classmates called her "Vamp"? How many times have they ran away scared of her after scraping their knees? How many times has she been compared not to the hero she wanted to be but the villains she resembled? Too many times to count.

Tch

Akane's hand recoiled from the volume she was holding, almost dropping it. She waved one of her hands in the air, biting her lip a bit. It wasn't hard for her to figure out what happened to her, it was a simple paper cut. But as harmless as those are, when she glanced at her finger and saw the red streak forming, her already down and depressed state turned to anger. Truly, it would be simple for her to stop the bleeding, but that wasn't the point. As if reading her thoughts, the world decided to remind her that she would never be the hero she wanted to be. Her Gift wasn't meant for good, she thought, and as she silently watched the red streak grow larger she grew angrier and angrier.

With a silent roar she hurled the manga at the wall. And there she stood seething for a few moments, before her father came up the stairs to see what was the commotion.

 

[jackelgull]

So uh me an Crezth wrote a thing

A Scene In the Alley​

Cyril slinks in the ever deepening shadows of the evening in an alleyway behind Tyler Roman Academy. It’s colloquially known as Hell’s Alley, because it’s a good spot to look for trouble - usually drug dealers or delinquents, but Cyril has no intention of looking for either. He’s here because there’s a rundown little Russian restaurant run by a nice old lady that makes really good food. The old lady also really likes to pinch his cheeks and ask alot of questions about his life, but he lets her. He knows she is lonely and she is kept here by the memory of her dead son, who joined a gang and got himself shot, so he doesn’t mind. Besides she’s not terrible company - she’s a great storyteller and she doesn’t seem to mind his quirks. Someday he might even offer to raise her son from the dead, to give her a chance to say goodbye.

Suddenly Jin Wushima appears from the corner of his eyes and interrupts his thoughts. Cyril does not know much about Jin Wushima. Most of what he thinks of her is based on rumour, observation and conjecture. Here are Cyril’s thoughts on Jin Wushima summed up: He notices that she is beautiful. She is not beautiful like a marble statue or a work of art - something clinical, safe and easy to box up and coddle and protect. Jin Wushima is beautiful like fire, like an electric bolt; she is beautiful like a wild dangerous thing. She is the adrenaline rush of combat, the breath of relief you take after the bullet misses, the warmth of a fire after nearly freezing to death.

Jin Wushima is a rebel without a cause. She does not rebel to change the system, but for the act of rebellion itself. She rebels not because she wants to but because she has to. She fights the system kicking and screaming as if to not fight is the same as dying, as if making the choice not to fight would take something vital and important to her, make her an unperson. She fights without strategy or goal as if she cannot imagine anything after the fight, like she knows of no safe place to come home to, as if she does not know the concept of home or safety.

This is what Cyril thinks he knows of Jin Wushima. And with all of that in mind, his first words on meeting her properly are: “You’re a djinn aren’t you?”

Jin looks at him, puzzled. “My name is Jin yes.”

She’s just standing there in the alley, her arms crossed. He can see the evidence of a fight in the bruises that decorate her arms.

“No, I mean a djinn as in the creatures of smoke and fire, like Arabian mythology? Those djinn.”

She narrows her eyes. “How do you know that? Most humans have never heard of the djinn or seen one”.

Cyril scratches his head a little sheepishly.

“Well, I had a run in with a demon after I summoned the soul of J Edgar Hoover from Hell. Asim was his name. He kind of gave me a stern talking to. And by stern I mean he broke my sternum, and by talking to I mean he punched me in some other places. He also wouldn’t shut up about Hell and djinns and whatnot.”

"Ah, yeah, that happens sometimes,” Jin says, shrugging and making a non-committal wave of the hand. “Tough luck man, but ehh, you know, Ahriman and his people are dicks: they talk a big game but they can't do much outside of hell without the right stuff." Jin nods sympathetically; as if raising a soul from the dead wasn’t some freakshow power, something that belonged locked up in a lab somewhere, but a natural part of life. Cyril decides he likes her then and there.

Cyril raises his eyebrows and looks interested. He’s a wiry, not particularly muscled, knife fighter: he relies on knowing enemy weaknesses and exploiting them, so this admission of weakness catches his attention.

“What sort of stuff?”

“Really, like, dumb stuff. Hair. Fingernails. Blood. Something intimate and material that lets them key into this world. Then, most of what they do is just projection. Spooky pictures. I can't tell you how many demons I've opened a circle to just for one question. It's "I'll get you and destroy earth!" one second and me closing the channel against their protests the next. It's like scammers asking for your social security or some horsehockey.”

As she answers, Cyril takes out a black notebook and starts scribbling down details.

“So what you're saying is that they have several exploitable vulnerabilities,” Cyril says clinically.

"Pretty much."

It is then Jin takes out a suspicious looking cigarette and starts pounding on one end.

“Want any?” she asks him.

That throws him for a loop. Truthfully, he probably should say no. He has no idea what an altered state of conscious means with his powers. He should just refuse, but being offered a hit of a drug, well that seems almost normal. That seems like something that’d happen between two people on friendly terms. Being offered a hit was something that happened to normal people who had friends and weren’t Cyril. So, of course, he takes it.

After he feels the effect of the drug working and feels his mind relaxing, he lets the question out: “What is this?”

Jin looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Just something to help you chill out” she says.

“Oh,” Cyril sighs, “that might be a problem.” At this point, his mind had become too clouded to properly convey just what might happen.

Jin just smirks at Cyril, figuring it’s the drugs talking.

Cyril feels himself slipping into the chill and something decidedly un-Cyril slips in. The Not-Cyril is the ghost of a gangbanger named Jacen Wade who’d been killed during Prohibition. He’d been part of one of the organized crime installments running alcohol until a rival gang put him six feet under.

Jacen Wade possesses the necromancer only to see a beautiful girl in front of him, so he does what any self respecting ladies’ man would do - he tries to flirt with her.

“Hello-o, beautiful,” he says grinning lasciviously, mussing his hair and striking a pose like some poofy-lipped flopper from a supermodel magazine.

Jin looks him up and down. “ I guess a toke is all some guys need.”

Wade looks over his new body over, unimpressed. Wade was fashionable and popular at parties. In his hey day in the twenties, he rocked the tuxedo looking suave and dashing - or so the ladies told him.

Cyril did not dress like that. Cyril was practical to a fault so he wore clothes insulated from the whims of fashion - he stuck to what was always acceptable - the dark muted greys, and blacks and dark greens of the on sale shirt from Kohls and those faded blue jeans he found at a Target somewhere. He had other clothes of course for formal occasions, but Cyril would never be on the forefront of tomorrow’s new hot trend.

“Damn I look like a wet blanket. Tell you what, sweet cheeks, I hear there’s a shindig going down at North End, why don’t you come with me there, give me a chance to really dress to impress?”

He leans in close to Jin and gives her a smouldering glance. The ladies love the smouldering glance.

Jin scans him as he gets close, her suspicions raised. She’s just met Cyril, but she’s seen him around and she knows he doesn’t get too close to people or let them into his physical space.

“You’re not quite Cyril, are you?” she guesses.

Wade gives her a winning smile.

“No ma’am, never heard of the name. I’m Jacen Wade, life of the party and appreciator of uncommon beauty.”

Jin smiles and gives a polite laugh in the winning and diplomatic manner one often does when accosted by unwelcome visitors.

"Well, ah, Mr. Wade,” she says, her voice becoming icy and her eyes narrowing in an incisive sneer, “you see, you've sort of overstayed your welcome here in the world of neutrons and atoms, so you should probably find your way back to whose-it land before I personally teach your afterlife the meaning of arson."

She winks and smirks devilishly.

"You see, I was talking to Cyril here before you rudely stepped in."

From beyond his body, Cyril could hear her. If he was in physical form he might feel something warm in the center of his being, the kind of acute joy that comes from knowing someone chose you, even if who they chose you over was an annoyingly flirtatious ghost.

Wade raises his hands in mock surrender. Years of experience in a criminal trade had taught him to size people up pretty well, and well, Jin wasn’t bluffing. She was the real deal, and the best course of action was to retreat before the serious ass kicking.

“Fine, fine,” he says, “let it never be said I don’t know how to take no from a woman”.

And so Jacen Wade leaves, and Cyril blinks back into existence.

“Well hell, at least it wasn’t an axe murder this time,” he says, still groggy from the drug and the possession.

Jin blinks and chuckles to herself incredulously. "Jesus, well, good to know you're a lightning rod for extradimensional maniacs."

She scratches the back of her neck, probably still a little high and out of her mind "If you ever run into any trouble with one of them, just let me know. Those guys have just about no fudging clue. I can play them like a guitar."

“Thanks for the help. Usually I control the dead not the other way around, but I don’t know. Something about being high fudgs with my powers.”

For a moment, Cyril just stands there awkwardly, before holding out his hand in a manner which indicated he wanted Jin to shake it.

“Hi, my name is Cyril. I’m sixteen, I go to the Tyler Roman Academy, I’m a necromancer, and I’m glad I met someone as nice and cool as you.”

Jin looks at Cyril’s hand with a flash of suspicion before she accepts it and shakes, her eyes darting up to quickly scan Cyril again. “Necromancer,” she repeats. “Cool.”

It’s probably for the best he stays in one place, to reduce the risk of something else slipping in, so Cyril flashes her a quick grin before sitting down and letting the high wear off in companionable silence. Today was nice he thinks. Jin may not be his friend, she may not ever speak to him again, but this was fun.

 

[Red_Spy]

Roommates:
Johanne/Aleks
Trudine/Jin
Juan/Nathaniel
Aurore*/Gabriel*
Luther/Cyril
Akane/Heidi
Arata/Jeremy

Boys Without Roommates:
James

Girls Without Roommates:
Jane
Li
April*
Cassandra*

-----

This should be an accurate list of all the roommates so far. Including NPCs* because why not.

 

[NinjaCow64]

[IMAGE IF ANY]
[COSTUME IF ANY]
“Yare yare daze.”​

Name: Jeremy Ford
Age: 16
Gender: Male
Place of Birth:Canberra, Australia
Height: 170cm
Weight: 55kg

Appearance & Costume: Jeremy is noticeably below average height and weight, a good description would be “scrawny”. He wears the uniform of the school, although it doesn’t really fit him very well and looks slightly too big. He has also done extensive modifications on it, adding a lot of personal items in the vein of character from Part 3 and 4 of JJBA.[/INDENT]

Personality: Jeremy is a massive weeb, which is obvious through almost any interactions with him. Jeremy physically incapable of hiding his powerlevels, which is embarrassing for everyone meeting him (and it really should be embarrassing for him). He will often go into re-enacting scenes from his favourite anime, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, or generally acting like a character from that series. He also has an obsession with naming people’s powers (including his own) after song/band names and referring to them as “stands”, which is another obvious Jojoke.

He’s also very socially awkward and is bad at reading the room. However, deep down he has a good heart and genuinely cares for things like justice and his friends and goes out of his way to make sure people are having a good time.

Background Jeremy has always wanted a “stand”, even before he discovered JJBA. He often did crazy stunts, such as riding down hills in a very unsafe “buggy” that was actually a modified wheelbarrow, in a misguided attempt to activate superpowers. The buggy incident caused him to end up bedridden for two months, during which he binged Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure and become the weeb that we all know and love today. A little while after this incident, his powers awoke. Seeing the great potential in his powers (as he puts it, his stand has development potential rank A), the Australian Government recommended him to go to the Tyler Roman Academy.

Talents:

• Near-perfect memory.
• Costume/fashion creation, he is really good at mending and creating clothing.
• Can speak both English and Japanese, although he is fluent in Japanese he has a very strong accent and has a tendency to say things that are a little too anime for real life.

Ability: Level 3 – Who’s Watching Me? Precognitive Kinetic Telepathy – Jeremy has the ability to read people’s actions before they do them. Experts call this ability “precognitive kinetic telepathy”, although Jeremy thinks that’s a lame name and he calls his stand “Who’s Watching Me?”, named after the song Somebody’s Watching Me by Rockwell. This power is useful in fights as he can predict what his opponent is going to do before they can do it. The power only allows him to “mindread” into the future by a few seconds. This includes speech, allowing him to emulate his favourite Jojo (Joseph) and mock his opponents by saying out loud what they were next going to say before they even have a chance to say it! This ability is also good at being able to read the abilities of other people's powers, which allows him to indulge in one of his favourite pastimes – giving people's superpowers stand names.

Electives: The Ethics of Heroism, Heroism and the Law, Protection Against the Mental Arts and Designing Your Own Costume
Club(s): Anime Club. Are you surprised?
Blood Type: AB

 

[Omega124]

“I never asked for this.”​

Name

Heidi Ackermann​

Age

15​

Gender

Female​

Place of Birth

Balzers, Liechtenstein​

Height

157 cm​

Weight

48 kg​

Appearance & Costume

Heidi mostly keeps an unkempt appearance, not having the energy nor patience to really coordinate her outfits to be aesthetically pleasing. She keeps her otherwise long black hair in a simple bun, which she in turn often covers in an old, faded beanie. She has blue eyes, and paleish skin which betrays her mountainous origin. If there is one distinctive part of Ackermann's wardrobe, however, it would be her penchant towards overalls: they're easy to work with and look presentable.

Heidi has no official costume, nor does she really care to make one. Hiding behind a mask is cowardly and betrays her authenticity as a (reluctant) metahuman. She really doesn't want to be a hero, and would love nothing more than to just go home and live a quiet life, but if that is impossible, then she mind as well just accept the fact she is a metahuman instead of trying to live a fake double life.


​

Personality

Heidi, due to initial overuse of her powers, has become nothing less than a complete and broken mess. She has completely burned away her capibility of experiencing strong positive emotions, and is clinically diagnosed with major depressive disorder. She lacks any sort of self-worth, and desperately wishes that she was anywhere but at Tyler Roman. Heidi considers herself to be a burden on society, as her power is parasitic, which has driven her to a general disdain towards the whole concept of superheroes in general.

Heidi is extremely reclusive, mostly preferring to stay in her dorm all day and refusing to interact or get close with anyone. While she is not fundamentally against the concept of friends, she has no real interest of being the one to go out and try to make them, which naturally leads her to not really having any. This indifference towards mantaining relations could be read as "cold", but its not born out of malice but instead a genuine inability to connect with others. Relatedly, Heidi is not a talkative person, and often communicates nonverbally whenever possible.

Heidi is very introspective of herself, constantly trying to justify her bleak, self-loathing worldview to herself. Resultingly, this has actually borne an interest in philosophy and ethics, and she has spent many hours perusing texts on the field to try to understand the human mind better. Her favorite philosopher is Satre, in which she has drawn a lot from his writings about authenticity and conformity... and beats herself up for allowing herself to live inauthentically and be driven by conformity to her situation.
​

Background

Heidi Ackermann was born to a small village in the Alps, in an equally tiny nation of Liechtenstein. Heidi was the oldest of three, and the only girl of her family. Life was mostly unassuming in Balzers, and Heidi was happy to just grow up in a peaceful and serene, if somewhat quirky, nation.

Everything, however, changed when she was twelve. While out in her backyard playing Dragon Ball with her younger brothers, she mimiced "charging up"... and actually managed to summon an aura of ki from herself. Heidi could feel her senses overloading, barely being able to physically comphrehend what was going on. Heidi ran inside to get help from her parents, and she noticed she was running faster than she ever had in her life! When she opened the back door, she accidentally manged to completely unhinge it as she pushed it forward. Heidi grew only more terrified of her found abilities, and almost soon thereafter collapsed on the kitchen floor.

Heidi's parents immediately recognized that their daughter was a metahuman, and were very proud of her. After bringing Heidi to the hospital, they called her middle school to inquire about how they could potentially help train their daughter's powers during gym. This call eventually ballooned up to the Liechtenstein government, particularly the Crown Prince, who was immediately exicited that, for the first time, a metahuman was born within their borders. Given the extremely small population, no one ever suspected Liechtenstein would ever give birth to any sort of metahuman, at least not for a long time.

The government gave the Ackermanns a proposal: let them take temporary ward of Heidi, and they would help train her powers (and keep up with her studies as well) to make her the pride of the small Alpine nation. Mr. and Mrs. Ackermann enthusatically agreed, despite Heidi's own protests of not wanting to go. In their minds, they thought it would be for the best of Heidi, as they certainly didn't have the knowledge or resources to properly care for an individual who might literally be able to casually kill or at least maim them (as the incident with the door attested to).

Thus, Heidi was taken to the capital village of Vaduz, where a group of European metahumans, on the Crown Prince's dime, was paid to train the young girl on her powers. Without understanding where the source of her power came from (and assuming it was irrelevant), they kept pushing Heidi to draw from her "inner strength" over and over again, as they tested the absolute limits of her combat capabilities. Being pushed like this kept drawing on Heidi's good nature, and she increasingly started to burn herself over. Soon, Heidi grew noticeably lethargic and depressed. It was only when she hit her limit, and started becoming physically incapable of drawing any more "strength" from herself, did Heidi's handlers come to the realization that Heidi's source of power was finite.

They cautiously tested to see if Heidi could draw power from other individuals, and seeing that she in fact could, elected to resume training, abliet at a slower pace than before. When the handlers themselves started to notice that they were all collectively starting to feel an increased sense of anxiety and dread, did they finally reach the conclusion that Heidi's powers came from burning other people's happiness.

Heidi's training at that point immediately stopped. The metahumans training Heidi no longer felt comfortable sacrificing their own well being just to train one girl. The Crown Prince, however, refused to give up on his ambition to have a superhero to represent his nation, and looked to see if an international institution would be willing to enroll Heidi, despite the concerns with her power. The only school to accept was one academy in America, the Tyler Roman.

A constitutional referendum was put to the voters if they should send Heidi to Tyler Roman on a government scholarship. The people overwhelmingly voted yes, at around 98%. Heidi was never even asked if she wanted to go. She just found herself at near-gunpoint to pack her belongings and sent to New Jersey, where the next stage of her training is set to begin.
​

Talents

Heidi is well versed in philosophy, and if pushed enough to, could run metaphorical circles around people related to questions about ethics or the meaning of existence.

Being the national sport of her home country, Heidi was taught how to alpine ski as a youth, which she moderately excelled at.​

Ability

Hope Burn - Level 3

Heidi, by herself, is completely powerless. She has no inherit advantages over a non-metahuman at her base level, which she keeps herself at whenever possible. However, she has the ability to leech power off of the emotions of other human beings, and "burn" it for fuel for her body. To be able to use this energy, she must be within eye contact distance with the individual she wishes to sap from, and the person that she is taking energy from must not have a corrupted soul. The leeching of energy does not need to be voluntary, and the indiviual being sapped will likely not even realize anything is going on physically. However, depending on how much energy is taken, they may feel emotionally drained from the ordeal.

Hope Burn permanently uses the energy it seizes, but does not give a permanent boost to Heidi. Much like a combustion engine, Heidi "burns" the emotions she seizes like if it was fuel for her powers. In order to work at peak capacity, she must continuously tap into the souls of pure hearted individuals and take their energy. Prolonged sapping can pernamently damage the person in question question, leaving them clincally depressed. Heidi has already done this to herself.

Flying Brick - Level 1

Once Heidi has sapped energy for her powers, her combat capibilities improves dramatically. She exhibits all the powers assoiciated with the "flying brick" archtype of heroes: super strength, super speed, super durability, limited flight, and even the ability to use ki as a projectile weapon. The first three qualities are inate: as long as she has energy stored in her, she can punch stronger, run faster, and laugh off hits that would seriously injure other metahumans. Her body will slowly burn off energy to keep these heightened attributes, but its an automatic process that she doesn't have to consciously think about to use. The more energy Heidi has sapped, the stronger these attributes are. Any cap she has is unknown; Heidi has shown an unwillingness to use her own powers, and thus hasn't explored if she can infinitely raise them. Flying or using ki offensively, meanwhile, cost energy to use on top of what she would naturally burn. Thus, it will reduce the amount of time Heidi has in her heightened state.

Note that Heidi does not necessarily get progressively weaker as she burns through her energy: she remains at the peak of her transformed state until she has completely run out of energy. However, she can choose to power down to burn it slower: the more energy she steals, the quicker Heidi will burn through it.​

Electives

Ethics of Heroism, Heroes and Villains in World War 2, Laws and Heroes​

Club(s)

Villain Club​

Other​

AB+ bloodtype​

 

[Seon]

Name: “Commander Blitzen,” Clover Sauer (NPC)


Age: 32


Gender: Guess


Place of Birth: Hermann, Missouri


Height: 185 cm


Appearance: Androgynous young-ish looking person from the Midwest. Commander Blitzen usually dresses up as a medieval knight, and rather behaves that way too.


Personality: Harsh, disciplined, but idealistic. A true believer. Headstrong and unwilling to shy away from a challenge.


Background: Commander Blitzen is the head of a heroic band of meta-humans operating out of Chicago, and spends much of his time there. She rose to her current status and fame due to her valiant struggle against the master villain, Psycho, culminating in a televised duel atop a skyscraper.


He was the head of the meta-human team dispatched to arrest Trudine Aokihagara, also a rather public and televised affair, and agreed to take over custodianship of the orphan afterwards.


Powers and Abilities: Regenerative Immortality. Threat Level: 3

She has not aged since his powers awakened in her early twenties.

Things he has survived: first degree burns across 90% of the body. Bullet wounds. Bludgeoning with a heavy object. Puncturing of the heart and liver (inflicted by Trudine), Decapitation, explosion that destroyed 98% of the body (self-inflicted).

Her regenerative powers work almost instantly, materializing destroyed body parts back within seconds from the largest available non-destroyed biomass. It's uncertain if he can survive total destruction of the body.

He believes that this power is a gift from God, and have dedicated her life towards protecting the innocent with his ‘invulnerable shield.’

She is extremely skilled in close-quarters combat, and often disregards her own defenses for reasons that should be blatantly obvious.

 

[jackelgull]

So this is something I wrote with Seon

in Which Cyril Uncovers a Dark Secret, But Not the One He Expected to Uncover​

In life there are some mysteries that must not be uncovered. Trudine Aokihagara is absolutely one of them. His first impression of Trudine was that talking with her was like talking with a machine that somebody painted and decorated ‘to look nicer.’ She was curt and polite like one would expect a stereotypical ‘middle-upper class’ lady to behave and usually had no shortage of latest ‘trendy’ things to talk about, but her eyes were dead, and she clearly did not care or understand anything she actually said.


Cyril’s only ever heard snatches of her story - she was found in the Middle East, she lives with a caretaker because her parents are dead, she disappeared a few years ago, and that she had a violent incident with a classmate in another school. He sees the ghosts that hang around her shoulder, a sad eyed procession following their lord, and the way her immaculate trendy facade has little cracks - mismatched socks, badges on the wrong side of the uniform. All of it adds up to a mystery he doesn’t want solved.


This wasn’t entirely helped by the fact that she actually snarled at him when they found themselves alone together in a library before she leapt out the open window.


Then of course, one day he’s strolling near the forest, and he sees her lugging around a suspiciously heavy suitcase. Cyril believes in compassion and second chances fervently, but he’s also not an idiot.There aren’t many innocent explanations for a suitcase in an empty forest. So naturally he follows her.


At first he stays on the ground, until he notices that she is laying traps throughout the forest. He frowns, this is getting curiouser and curiouser. Then he climbs onto the trees and begins following her that way but not before texting his mom about the situation. Cyril has grown up stubborn and meddlesome, like his parents in all the ways they hoped he’d never turnout like them, but he also promised his mother he’d let her know when he was involved in something dangerous and he was beginning to suspect this fit the bill. Trudine reminded him of a wolf on a prowl or some other kind of apex predator.


At the center of the forest, it turns out that there is, of all things, an ancient fallout shelter. Mere couple of decades ago, students and faculty would be funnelled into the structure in case of drills or atomic war. Nowadays with the Cold War a fading memory, such structures were a forgotten, fading memory. Glancing around to ensure that nobody is nearby, but failing to spot Cyril hiding in treetop, she unlocks the padlock with a pair of lockpicks. The door closes shut behind her suitcase after it’s dragged indoors.


When Cyril opens the door to the shelter afterwards, she is already long gone ahead, disappearing into one of its deeper chambers. The ‘entrance hallway’ is a long, depressing and claustrophobic thing. Airlocks and a shower bisect the hallway, but the doors seem forced open by planks of wood and wires. Clearly, Trudine has been here before. It seems like it would be a perfect place to hide bodies, at least, for a short time anyways. Deep inside, Cyril can hear the clattering as Trudine moves and kicks around the various debris.


Following her into the shelter, avoiding the pools of stale water on the concrete ground, he finally comes to before a door. Underneath, light from the old incandescent lamps that still light the shelter streams out. She seems to have turned on some kind of music--a surprisingly happy pop song and something Cyril would never have expected Trudine to be listening to.


He cracks open the door to sneak a glimpse, and sees something that he should never have seen.


“You are a shooting star!” Trudine sings, cradling her microphone and beaming a wide smile. “Sparkling, spinning, you spin me round and round!” She does a tiny little spin. There’s sparkles in her eyes.


“Sparkling, Shining, oh so Dazzling, sparking the love of maidens under the dark night sky! There is only Y. O. U!” The way she’s singing and hopping, is surprisingly good, and Cyril can’t help but continue to stare.


“Sparkling, Shining Shooting Star, Yay!” She leaps into the air. Unfortunately, she spots Cyril at that moment.


At first, there is silence. Sparkles in her eyes and the smile rapidly fade away, making room for horror. Then she goes red in the face.


“Wa… Wa…. Wa… WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” she shouts.


He defends himself and says “I thought you were hiding a dead body! I saw you with a heavy suitcase and you have a dozen ghosts hanging around you what was I supposed to think?”


Trudine winces at that, but continues. “Who are you? Who sent you? Didn’t you see all the damned traps?”


Cyril opens his mouth to defuse the situation and says, “I’m Cyril, I sent myself to investigate and of course I saw the traps, why did you think I was so suspicious. Seriously who traps a place unless they want to hide something?!”


“So,” a small bit of embarrassment seem to make room for menace and anger. “You saw everything, then. I’ll kill you!” She lunges forward with a knife, aimed at Cyril’s neck, but there’s no intent behind the swing. He sidesteps the lazy attack, grabs onto her arm, and pushes her forward, leaving her sprawled on the ground in front of him. “What the hell is with you!” Trudine screams at him. “All the time! All the damned time! You manage to sneak up on me!”


Well fudge, he thinks before he defending himself against her dagger attacks, this is not the plan, this is very not the plan. Trudine Aokihagara is not trying to kill him- this is clear from her initial weak assault followed by her next few more lethal and precise barrage of attacks so Cyril does not shove a dozen ghosts in her head and hope her psyche doesn’t break. Instead he tries to talk to her.


“I don’t know how you expect this to go, but I texted my mom before tailing you, so if I disappear, it won’t be hard to connect the dots. Also, if you don’t kill me, wounding me really badly won’t help the situation any. So do you think maybe you could put the knife down please.”


She doesn’t put down the knife, but does stop her attacks. “Goddamnit…” she mutters. “Have you… have you ever been to a concert?” She asks.


Cyril blinks at that, because well look at him. He feels like there should be a sign that says “Has not done all the stuff normal teenagers do”. Even if he was musically inclined or had friends to invite him, he lived in a Florida backwater.


“Not much opportunity to” he says, “And I’m not musically inclined enough to go chasing concerts in major cities”


“I have,” Trudine says after a short moment. “And the singers on the stage, well, they looked like they were having so much fun… for a tiny, smallest moment, I fooled myself into thinking that I could be just like them,” she said. “So how was it? My training. I bet it was laughable. I mean, who could even imagine it? It doesn’t suit me, right?”


There are some people who are excellent conversationalists, treating words like an art, and talk like diamond smiths layering subtleties on top of subtleties to get what they want. Others speak like weavers, weaving threads of words in and out to create a useful conversation. Cyril has mostly experience with the dead who he can bend to his will and so Cyril converses like an axe lunatic, swinging words wildly at hapless victims.


“Why not? Because you’re a beginner? All the best singers and performers were beginners once. Or is it the dresses you’re worried about? You’re pretty enough to wear them and besides attractiveness is relative - the two hottest characters out right now are a pockmarked emo douche and a fish man.”


He thinks he sees her wince slightly at the mention of Kylo Ren, but he doggedly presses on.


“I think we got off on the wrong foot” he says, “How about we introduce ourselves? My name is Cyril, I am sixteen years old and I see dead people”


He holds out his hand like he expects her to shake it.


“I knew it,” Trudine says. “Things like singing… dancing… that’s completely unsuited for me… do you know how long it took me to get proficient with a knife?”


Cyril shrugs at that not seeing her point, “I’m guessing about as long as I did? Three years give or take?”


“Two days,” Trudine says. “Everything related to fighting just flows into my brain like water into a sponge. The monsters told me that I had a gift. A talent for this.” She gets up from the floor, using the knife pull herself up along the wall. “Everytime I see a target and hold a weapon, I just know what to do. Yes… it must have been very funny to see someone like me doing all this useless crap,” she snarls. “So laugh if you want, and let your laughing face be engraved into your death mask!” She seems almost in tears as she enters a proper battle stance.


Laughing is the last thing Cyril feels like doing right now. In fact, Trudine’s words strike a chord in him, some memory of his mother telling him of her time as an assassin. It really pisses him off. He enters his own battle stance and says, “You, Trudine Aokihagara, are a human being. You are not a fudging hammer, or a drill or an arrow with a target, with its own specific purpose and label. You are a human being and you have a choice. You can work on being a pop star. Your movement is really fluid and mesmerizing and honestly I’d like to watch your routine. You can talk this out with me like a rational human being or we fight it out, but don’t you dare pretend you aren’t human enough to make choices and take responsibility for your own actions.”


Trudine doesn’t reply, but she does stand upright, leaving her battle stance. Her expression is inscrutable. She steps forward, moving around Cyril and back into the room where she begins to pack up her suitcase. “I’m going home,” she says. “If you value your life, you will not utter a word of what happened here outside of this shelter. I’ll poison your tea.”


Cyril almost snorts at that. He doesn’t even drink tea. Instead he gives her a small smile and says, “You don’t have to threaten me for that you know. I’d keep your secret for free. I’m a necromancer, keeping secrets kind of comes with the territory”


Trudine avoids eye contact as she rushes out of the room, suitcase in hand. “I mean it, not a word,” she hisses under her breath. She leaves him behind as she hurries out the shelter and disappears.


As he leaves the shelter, he takes out his phone to see that his mother has texted him to ask what happened


Not much, he texts back to her, I think I made a friend today, must be my winning personality


No seriously, she asks, what did you do


Cyril doesn’t answer. He will take Trudine’s secret to his grave for as long as she demands it of him, not because he is afraid of her threats, but because Cyril has never spilled a secret that was not his to tell.

 

[JamesCaesar]

(Thanks to Red and Reus for co-writing this with me.)

-----
​

Once upon a time, there was a Big Mac. It was quite a delicious Big Mac, one marveled by human society. That is, if you determine that human society is summarized by one young lad named Juan Gallasco. He sat at his table, staring longingly. It was him. He. The Mac and the Man. He was quivering, nearly trembling with euphoria as his hands made contact with the supple, dimpled buns of the burger. He brought it to his mouth and was about to sink his teeth into Ray Kroc’s legacy as a voice startled him.

“Join, join, join our club! If you’re here, you’ll have tons of fun!!!”

The shrill voice from across the way came from one of the founders of the Choir Club, a music club with a more laid back, community based front for non-serious musicians.

“Can you believe them?” Nathaniel, Juan’s friend and the founder of the Dedicated Guild of Musicians, turned and said ostentatiously. “They call themselves musicians but they couldn’t focus long enough to even spell the word arpeggio” the blonde boy articulated, banging his hand into the table as an emphasis. Juan, on the other hand, was noticeably more interested in the rich texture of his Big Mac rather than Nathaniel's discourse, yet he continued on: ”What we need is someone serious to join our club. There’s no shortage of musicians in this area, but we can’t seem to find someone with that serious aura about them. Someone… someone like that girl over there.” Nathaniel pointed to a girl that looked was walking away from another booth in a huff.

She had a messy mop of black hair and a plain look to her. No frontwoman surely, but maybe, just maybe, she’d have the right attitude and knowledge for the Dedicated Guild of Musicians.

“You mean the girl who looks like she stepped out of the Ju-On Movies?” Juan asked, puzzled if him and Nathaniel were looking at the same girl.

“She might not have the utmost amount of confidence, no, but she does have that inherent musician’s look. I’d have a hard time explaining it to you-” Nathaniel looked to his left to see Juan at a loss, with half of the contents of his sandwich spilt into his lap. “-and as such I won’t.”

Juan shrugged as Nathaniel took a flier out of his bag and abruptly stood up. “If she’s truly got a musician’s spirit,” he declared, “she won’t be able to turn down this offer.”

-----​

“What? Why would I join a band?”

Not the reaction Nathaniel was expecting. She just seemed to have it, IT, that atmosphere that says their raison d’etre is to be a musician. Judging from her appearance, likely an emo one, but anything is better than the choir club.

“Look at those fools over there.” Nathaniel gestured to the choir club, still loudly trying to persuade someone else to join. “They don’t know what it is to be a musician. They’re not dedicated- they’re doing it purely as a social outlet. But you, you have that look about you. Surely you’d want to join the exclusive institution that is the Dedicated Guild of Musicians?”

“What the **** do you mean? I’ve never played music in my life.” the girl responded.

“When you truly think about it, neither have the charlatans in that other group. Say, do you have any large commitment currently in your life?” Nathaniel prodded.

The girl narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “What? No. I mean, I would have but those idiots over there said I was too, ehem, ‘off-putting’. Well their loss for not wanting me.”

“They don’t want you because they don’t want to socialize with you. Music isn’t purely focused on that aspect- playing music is about the music, the player is disregarded in that sense.” Nathaniel stuck out a flier from under his arm, advertising the club in the most professional way it could.

The girl took the flier and glanced over it, “So what? I still don’t have any experience. This looks, like, way out of my league you know.”

“Nobody has experience before they start playing- but you’ve got the aura of success about you and you’ve certainly got the time. Do consider well!” Nathaniel said the last bit over his shoulder as he marched back to his booth.

“Whatever.”

-----
​

“So?” Juan asked Nathaniel as he sat back beside him.

“I got her hook line and sinker.” Nathaniel boasted. “She seems to be doing nothing better with her time, and I do believe I made a good first impression. At the very least she’ll bring more numbers to our club which means more publicity and the potential for even better musicians.”

“Yeah, sure - but judging by her looks I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” Juan replied as he finished the last of his meal.

“You never know,” Nathaniel chuckled, “when I saw you sat in our dorm on the first day wearing the shirt with that disgusting M on it, I didn’t figure you’d have the brains to play music, let alone at this caliber.”

"Really? I don't get why people associate McDonald's with lack of taste." he countered, mildly annoyed "-it truly takes a certain way of thinking and level of sophistication to really understand how deep McDonald's is." Juan continued as he sipped some coke for himself.

“Right, of course.” Nathaniel looked at the ground and Juan’s lap, where shreds of lettuce still remained.

 

[Seon]

An Epilogue for something else


I.1: Mr. Amari, thank you for having us today.

Amari: It’s no problem. I must say, I wasn’t expecting to talk to you people again.

I.2: Talk to what people?

Amari: You know, the feds.

I.1: Mr. Amari, are you aware of why we contacted you?

Amari: Honestly, I have no idea.

I.2: Haven’t you seen the news? Do you remember Trudine Aokihagara?

Amari: Aokigahara. It’s a common enough mistake. Sweet girl. I haven’t heard from her in a while, what happened to her, is she alright?

I.1: Before we get to that, Mr. Amari. Could you tell me what you’ve been doing for the last few months? It’s for the records.

Amari: What? Records?

I.1: Ah, I forgot to mention. The contents of the conversation is being recorded. Do you mind if we continue?

Amari: Oh, no. I don’t mind. As for what I’ve been doing, I’ve been painting, hiking, studying biology at the local college. Do you know how fascinating palms are?

I.2: No, not really. What’s so fascinating about them?

Amari: They are capable of withstanding hurricanes, and they do it by being able to bend in seemingly impossible ways, for a tree I mean. Stronger woods, such as pine, gets ripped apart easily before a storm. Palms? Most of them are completely fine. The ground will give way before the tree does.

I.1: That is fascinating, but that’s not why we are here.

Amari: Well, you haven’t really explained anything to me, so I don’t know what to say to that.

I.2: Your fellow survivor and rescuee from Operation Windfall, that was the name of the operation that found you and the others, suddenly and seemingly without cause nearly murdered at least a dozen people in Grand Rapids. In the report you submitted to us, you assured us that she was kept alive by the insurgent forces because she was a ‘useful asset.’

Amari: Yes, that’s right. She’s a sweet girl. I seem to remember, when your military finally rescued us from four years of captivity, they took her away for many propaganda photographs. She was quite popular for a while. I was very glad. She deserves some good things in life.

I.1: You told us that she was a ‘useful asset’ for tracking wayward sheep and butchering them.

Amari: That’s correct. She was very good at her job. It saved her life. Do you seriously think the bandits and warlords of the Desert would be willing to let a young kid like that live for too long among the soldiers? They would’ve just used her up and thrown her away in a ditch somewhere.

I.2: Mr. Amari, do you seriously expect us to believe that some sheep butcher in the arid desert could know how to take down a dozen armed men with nothing but X-acto knives?

Amari: I don’t know what to tell you. I’m only recounting the truth. She wouldn’t hurt a real person. She’s a sweet girl. She baked us cookies when we had the supplies to do so.

I.2: We have at least a hundred witnesses willing to testify otherwise.

Amari: That she doesn’t bake cookies?

I.2: That she’s willing to hurt people.

I.1: Mr. Amari, you told me that you were a shepherd who got captured along with your flock by the war bands. Could you tell me what happened again?

Amari: Look, I must’ve repeated the story a hundred times or something. Aren’t there records you can dig up?

I.1: Mr. Amari, this is important. Please. We just want to know what really happened.

Amari: Okay. So starting from the beginning. I was a shepherd, and my fellow shepherds were journeying west to get away from all the fighting. But the ground was unfamiliar and we became lost. We ran out of food and water. We were going to starve to death.

I.2: Didn’t you have an entire herd of sheep to eat?

Amari: You ever butchered sheep before? It’s a hard job. Besides, that didn’t really solve the water problem.

I.1: I see. Continue, please.

Amari: We thought there was no hope, until a band of warriors--the insurgents, as you call them--arrived. They offered to take us on, but they had their own stockpile of sheep to take care of, and didn’t have room for any more at the moment. They only were willing to save humans like us.

So that night, we bludgeoned all of our sheep and joined the war bands. It was better that then letting them die slowly in the desert. You understand.

I.2: Didn’t you just say that butchering sheep were hard?

Amari: Killing them is easy. Butchering is hard.

I.1: This is when you met the girl, Trudine Aokigahara, correct?

Amari: Yes, that is correct. She was the one taking care of the sheep in the war band. The warriors liked her very much. She was obedient and, most importantly, good at her job of finding lost sheep. A more headstrong or less useful girl would’ve been killed quickly. It turned out that she learned how to hunt with her mother in South Africa, so understood how to track and slay animals.

I.2: Mr. Amari. We know you weren’t a shepherd. Nobody we managed to interview in the wool markets of the region ever recognized you.

Amari: What a silly question. Do you think the fishmonger recognize every fisherman who walks into his market to sell his fish?

I.2: Mr. Amari, couldn’t you just tell us the truth?

Amari: But I am telling you the truth. It was a war zone, I’m not sure if you understand. Lots of things happened that nobody has any records about. For all intents and purposes, a giant worm may have eaten an entire army, and nobody would know about it.

I.1: Let us continue. Tell us more about what the girl did for the army.

Amari: The warriors liked to eat a lot of meat and milk, and it was our job to provide for them. We procured livestock from the local villages to satisfy this demand. The sheep tended to die off quickly, what with the warriors’ appetites and the conditions of war.

I did most of the talking, while the girl chased down the few sheep that managed to escape. The villagers provided our warband with sheep, and the warband protected them from harm. That is to say, the warriors would kill them all unless they gave up their sheep. I’m not proud of what I did, but that was war. They would’ve killed me if I didn’t, and better a few sheep die than a human being.

I.2: There was no sheep, was there?

Amari: Of course there were sheep. You know, the type that goes baa. The one you harvest wool, milk, and meat from. What use would we have from villages otherwise? Nobody had enough preserved food and water out there.

I.1: Jackson, please. I’m sorry, Mr. Amari, we don’t mean to accuse…

Amari: No, it’s fine. It’s nothing I haven’t heard anyways.

I.1: Let’s skip ahead to Operation Windfall. Could you tell us what happened there?

Amari: Oh, that was a horrible night.

I.2: Dozens of good soldiers died that night, yes.

Amari: Your people came like a storm, lighting up the sky like the fury of God. The warriors all left to the front, and only us shepherds were left. Before they left, they gave us guns and told us to slaughter the flock. While the girl stood watch atop the roof, we went to the pens and slaughtered the sheep. It was better this way then to let them die in the fighting or starve without care. Then we ran to the hospital, where we joined up with the girl to weather out the storm.

Explosions, rockets, and bullets filled the air. We prayed to God, and urged the girl to join us. The warriors were being pushed back by the furious gale to where we were, and we knew the end was near. Then the girl joined in our prayer, and suddenly, everything stopped.

It was a miracle, do you understand? For one impossible moment, the storm passed. The skies cleared. The bullets stopped flying, and bombs stopped falling. We were saved. Delivered. But we could see that this was merely the eye of the storm. The worst was yet to come.

Trudine, bless her, she was filled with guilt over slaughtering of all those animals. She may be tough, but she’s still a girl, you know? She should be studying algebra, not learning how to stab sheep just the right way. She told us that this was God’s punishment for what she had done. What all of us had done. I slapped her.

I.2: That last detail wasn’t in the original document you submitted.

Amari: Who would admit to slapping a young girl like that? If you want to charge me for assault, go ahead. See if I give a damn. She blocked it anyways.

I.1: Please, continue. Jackson, stop interrupting.

Amari: I slapped her, and I told her that there was no way that God intended this. All of this. The bombs, the bullets, and all the deaths. “You only killed sheep!” I screamed at her. “God will forgive you. By God, you only killed sheep!” And then I told her my story that I have by now repeated at least a hundred times. “We did nothing wrong. We can only pray that God agrees and delivers us from this hell.”

I turned to the others, and we all nodded. We only killed sheep. We prayed for God to save us, and from out of the storm, human beings emerged. Not the warriors nor the sheep, but human beings in armored cars and trucks full of food and water. We were saved. God had heard our prayers.

That is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

I.2: We don’t believe you.

I.1: Jackson, please! I’m so sorry Mr. Amari. I shouldn’t have…

Amari: No, it’s fine. It’s a fantastic story, I know, but what can I say? It’s the truth.

I.1: It’s just that, Mr. Amari, it’s too fantastic! You can’t seriously expect to believe that this is what happened after that incident in high school.

I.2: Why can’t you admit that the girl was being used as an enforcer? There was no sheep. There never were any sheep. Who is she working for, and why are you protecting her? Is it because it will implicate you?

Amari: Listen, I don’t really understand you people. You people don’t even bat an eyelash anymore if a kid with a machine gun walks into a mall or his school because he got bored, but if it involves the Desert, you go all wild in the eyes and start throwing out insane conspiracy theories about who could be behind it, what motives that a person might have.

Sometimes, people just lose themselves. Sometimes, people just go blind. Sometimes, a story is just a story and truth is just a truth. I’ve told you everything I know already.

I.1: Mr. Amari, you consider yourself a storyteller, correct?

Amari: Yes.

I.1: I want you to tell us a story.

I.2: Monroe, is this really the time?

Amari: Well, sure, okay. What kind of story, though?

I.1: I want you to tell us a story. A fictional version of the story you just told, just without the sheep and God.

Amari: …

I.2: (in Spanish) Monroe, what the hell do you think you saying?

I.1: (in Spanish) Shut up Jackson, I think I’m close to breaking this case here.

Amari: In this fictional world without God or sheep, I would have been traveling with a band of refugees west across the desert.

I.2 (in Spanish): Wow. You were right.

Amari: The monsters in the berets found us. They tossed down clubs and knives, and told us that they only could save a few of us. A few of us tried to run, and the girl and others gunned them down. A few of us were brave, and refused to pick up the weapons. Others tried to kill the soldiers, and they were gunned down too. I prayed to God, and picked up the weapons. If He is so powerful as I believed he was, he would strike me down before I struck down those who were truly pious--those who refused to pick up arms against their fellows. The pious’ brains along with my faith in God splattered against the desert sands, and people like me were welcomed.

I.1: Mr. Amari, remember that this is a fictional story. Continue, please.

Amari: We took hostages from the villages. Sometimes, we forced them to work. Sometimes, we degraded them. I spoke their languages, so I was the spokesperson. The girl… the girl always knew what to do. If there was a person of enough charisma to reject our demands, she always ended him, quietly, before the warband could learn about the village’s rejection. The killings were always just enough for the villagers to surrender in time. This was a good thing. Without it, the warband would have just slaughtered them all just like they slaughtered my people.

I.2: (whispering) Bingo

I.1: In this story, what happened at Operation Windfall?

Amari: I’m tired. Perhaps we can talk about this later.

I.1: Please, Mr. Amari.

Amari: When the American army came, the warriors told us to slaughter the prisoners and hostages. To kill the girl once we were done. We did as we were told, because we had no idea exactly what kind of force we were fighting and believed the warriors would emerge victorious. We were wrong, of course, and we knew just how wrong we were when the first bombs and missiles started to fall.

We ran to the hospital where the girl was being kept. And we arrived just in time to witness a storm. She was strong. Stronger than anyone and anything we could have ever expected. There were dozens of bodies in the entrance halls. She wasn’t human. She told me, without a hint of suspicion that we were there to kill her, that she was getting us out of here. She was getting all of us out of here, by God, if that is the last thing she did.

I told her that we would only slow her down, from the looks of it. She told me that she had to at least try. Everyone else were either dead or going to die, but she could at least save us in the few moments that she had bought. We were all damned, but at least we were in the same boat. At least we understood each other, or at least, she thought we understood her.

I.1: Understood what?

Amari: The will to survive. The willingness to set aside the things that defined us as human beings and return to the one thing that allowed humans to become the dominant beasts on this planet: reason. But we didn’t understand her. Not really. We feared her.

I.2: So what did you do next?

Amari: In this fiction, I drop my gun and fall to my knees. We aren’t leaving, I tell her. She nods, and drops her guns too. We are damned, then, she says. It’s not too late for you to run. Save yourself, I say. I won’t save myself. I don’t deserve it. Something within me snaps.

I.2: And that’s when you slap her.

Amari: Yes. I slap her, and tell her that she’s still young. People like me, we may be damned by our actions, but for a little girl to be damned similarly? I will not have it. I cannot have it. If I cannot believe in God, or even humanity, I have to believe at least that a child can change.

“You only killed sheep!” I scream at her. And I tell her the story. The true story of what happened in the real world, but a fictional one in this dream world of blood. “You only killed sheep! By God, you only killed sheep.”

I look back to the others. The others who dealt with the hostages and prisoners, who quickly agree with me. “Yes,” they say. “We only killed sheep.”

She’s usually a machine, of stoic grey eyes and a mask of apathy, but now she begins to cry. She punches ineffectually at my chest. “You can’t!” she says. “You can’t just… they’ll never believe us!” She’s not ashamed. “I never even bothered to find another way. I just did everything they told me to. Like I was one of them. I can’t…”

“There was no other way,” I tell her. “They spoke with force. We didn’t have enough of it. We did the right thing.” The right of a murderer who killed his friends and slaughtered defenseless prisoners, but a right nonetheless.

“I didn’t save a thing in the end,” she remarks. “You will save us,” I reply. “And we will save you in turn.” We huddled together in the hospital. I would like to say we prayed to God, hoping that he would believe us and refuse to strike us down, but he had refused to strike us down when we slew the far more deserving. The innocent. We knew he wouldn’t strike us down.

After an eternity, a new column of American soldiers arrived in their tanks and armored car. We staggered outside to meet them, hands raised, eyes red. We told them the story. The true story of what I recounted a hundred times, and they believed us. The American soldiers believed us because they understood the same thing we understood, that we needed something to believe in if we are to live in hell. We hoped the girl could move on. Bounce back into what she ought to have been. In this fictional universe, we are wrong, because people never change and monsters are never stopped.

I.2: …

I.1: …

Amari: But that’s all rhetoric anyways. Just a fictional story told to scare wayward children. The truth is that God exists and he takes care of his faithful. The evil warriors are struck down. American soldiers emerge from the storm like heroes out of a fable. The prisoners are rescued. Only the sheep are sacrificed. People change for the better. They leave behind the dream world of blood and death, and for the real world of love and peace. The girl becomes a sweet child who bakes cookies for her foster parents, and never track another sheep ever again. I become an environmental scientist trying to save what’s left of this nation’s coastline from the storms.

I.2: (in Spanish) This guy is full of crap.

I.1 (in Spanish) I know. But we can’t prove it. This story doesn’t match the information we received either. By his statements, we should have found some prisoner cells full of dead hostages. No such things were found.

I.2: (in Spanish) Maybe they hid it somehow? Maybe…

I.1 (in Spanish) The soldiers believed their story.

I.2 (in Spanish) You think our own people are involved in this?

I.1: (in Spanish) You heard what he said. They needed something to believe.

I.2 (in Spanish) Jesus Christ.

Amari: A personal question, Mister uhhh… Monroe?

I.1: Yes?

Amari: Between the truth and the lie, which one do you prefer?

I.1: That’s not really importan-

Amari: Please.

I.1: I suppose I must say I like the true story better.

Amari: Thank you.

I.2: This interview is now concluded.

Amari: Would you not like to stay for coffee? Tea? I cou- *record breaks off here*

.....................................................

Investigation have resulted in no new information regarding the case in Grand Rapids. Interview files are hereby ordered sealed.

 

[Defacto]

Spoiler :

[RESERVED FOR COSTUME]
“Stop asking, by Dolce & Gabbana.”​

Name

Margherita Immacolata Berta​

Age

15​

Gender

Female​

Place of Birth

Anchorage, United States of America​

Height

160 cm​

Weight

40 kg​

Appearance & Costume

Margherita is very thin and lanky for her build. She weighs less than ideal for her height and has a body that display no signs of muscles or fat. In fact she strikes one as someone whom have little amount of exercise, and even if she eats like a truck her high metabolism keeps her body frail. She has a plain body which would easily be taken as a boy. Her face is round-shaped. She is snub-nosed and has brown eyes. Her jet black short-hair which she always cut in a bob hairstyle.
​

Personality

Margherita has a very gentle nature, and she is too good-hearted to be judgmental. She has a tendency of always give the benefit of the doubt, be generous to a fault and really trust those she keeps around her. She has a very honest hearth, and is always ready to keeps her word - which leads her to easily trust people.

In most situations Margherita is caring and polite with those around her. She tries the best to be discreet about her selfishness, but she only ends being stubborn and impulsive. And she is very uneasy about physical violence herself. ​

Background

Margherita is the only child of two villains (but that is a story for another day). She had a quite chaotic childhood, never being able to settle down in a place to call home; as every time her parents were defeated they had to move and try again in another city across the country.

Eventually the superhero community became aware of the two pesky villains moving from city to city, and they came up with this amazing 4-step plan: raid their house, locate and capture the targets, ???, profit.

The plan worked half the way to the end. In one of the bedroom they found a crying girl. And the crying girl asked them to leave, and so they did. They did that two more times until the gas masks arrived. She was sent to a foster home but not before VIGIA intervention.
​

Talents

She is the nicest person you will ever be with. Margherita is talented with first aid, she is a good chess player, she is good with disarming and setting traps, computer games (mostly Age of Empires II) and she is very good at cooking too. Also she is a good student.​

Ability

Level 3. Pheromone Suggestion. Margherita’s body produces pheromones that causes anyone who inhales them to instantly like her, as long as they are in the vicinity. Furthermore, they will find themselves agreeing with her as if every word she says becomes the most logical and sensible thing they've ever heard.​

Clubs

Villain's Club and Cooking Club​

Electives

Understanding Super Sciences
Making Your Own Costume
Protection Against the Mental Arts​

Other

Blood Type: B-.

She got the name Margherita Immacolata Berta after her maternal grandmother. Otherwise her father wanted to name her Rose.

She is Catholic, like her entire family.

She smells like spring flowers when she is happy.

Her favorite color is orchid pink, and her favorite animal is the hummingbird.​

 

[Defacto]

I wrote this from my tablet. I don't expect top notch English here, and the text could be a little weird. Sorry.

-

Margherita had to wait 30 minutes until a few guards wearing hazard suits could come with an agreement if the room was safe or not from her pheromones, and all that while inside a box made of glass walls specially built to her - a containment completely sealed with its own air circulation and a chair (at least the chair was comfortable and they let her keep her phone).

Then she had to wait another 10 minutes as the necessary VIGIA staff made their way with caution to the big table at a safe distance of the box.

“Is this on? Can everyone hear me?” asked the main figure at the center poking the microphone, then he straightened himself out in the chair and continued. “We're here today, November 17th of 2017, to analyze and judge the case of Margherita Immacolata Berta, 14 years old, Metahumans of level 3, daughter to...” The figure kept reading his notebook. He was very tall, even for a person sitting on a chair. And to the far left hide in a corner, a scribe typed every word he said in his computer without looking, with the precision of a robot.

Margherita’s fear was growing inside her. Somehow they knew more about her life than she, and being such big organization they could easily sentence her to death, or worse, they could send her to those prison made for villains, or even send her back to Alaska - she hated there, too cold! Why I had to be the daughter of--, her thoughts were interrupted by the same men, his expression even more terrifying. “Miss Margherita, are you listening?”

She shook her head positively in fear, and replied in the microphone installed inside her box, “Y-yes, sir... Sorry.”

“Don't worry darling,” a feminine voice that came from the far right of the table interrupted both Margherita and the old man. “We'll not send you back to Alaska.” She smiled, but Margherita could not tell if what she said was “freedom awaits, darling” or “there is worse than Alaska, darling”.

“Miss Margherita,” the man got the attention back. “Now we're going to make few questions. Be warned that you made a vow to tell the truth, and that we have individuals capable of telling if you lying, as you know. Can we start?”

“Yes, s-sir.” Suddenly she wished she had powers to get the hell out there.

“Miss Margherita,” someone to the scary man’s left spoke, his name was Johnson, and he was round and smaller than then scarecrow that occupied the center of the huge table. Oddly enough she bet if they both got up they would make the number 10 together - in which Margherita tried not to laugh, that could not be said about the mind-invasor in the far right. “How long do you know about your powers?”

“S-she told me.” Margherita pointed to a woman across the hall.

“Thank you,” the Johnson guy said. “Doctor Kiara, do you have an estimated date her powers emerged?”

The woman he directed his question took a long look at Margherita’s report, and for someone responsible for finding what happened that night, Kiara was the nicest person at the table, mostly because when they talked it was not from a screen, sealed room or using a gas mask. “Probably as the team stormed the house, Johnson. Flashbang explosions could do that to a teenager.”

“Don't we have an accident already?” someone else asked.

“You mean the day she asked a boy to buy a cheeseburger from McDonald's?” Luckily doctor Kiara had no superpower of shooting lasers through her eyes or wishing death upon her enemies. “That's completely irrelevant, and anyone could've done that with or without said powers.”

“What about her parents,” the bony figure at the center took part of the conversation. “Don't you think she could've used her powers to allow their escape?”

“She's 14, for God's sake!” The woman who previously had no qualms in reading other’s mind took a turn in the discussion. “Do you really think her parents would do that?”

“Should I remind you the person we're talking about is--”

“Her father,” the delver of secrets interrupted again. “And the same could be said about her mother.”

“So why they left her?” Another woman raised her voice.

“Because they're well aware we won't throw a teenager to the snakes!”

Silence reigned in the room. Somehow the privacy-invader had put reason in their heads. Snakes?

“What you suggest, Scarlett?” said the slender man in suit at the middle. “We'll give up to their plans and send her to Horikoshi Gakuen?”

“No,” the mind reader said angrily. “That's a high security prison for delinquents. She isn't a villain-wannabe... or has the remotely idea where is Japan.”

Damn she did again. Margherita wanted to cry now.

“What about Tyler Roman Academy? My son studied there. And if you so worried about this, they got this AI to keep bad apples in line. Even if she ain't one.”

“Wally?”

“HAL?”

“No, I think it had a female name.”

“SUSIE?”

The man in the middle coughed.

“Congratulations, miss Margherita. You're going to the prestigious Tyler Romero Academy for Talented Young Metahumans - or something like that. Hey, don't write that!” he pointed to the scribe. “Have a nice day. I declare this meeting over, finally. I need a good cup of coffee.” As he finished everyone in the room put a gas mask, and two guards opened the box and escorted her to the exit.

At least no snake posion.

 

[Red_Spy]

Welcoming Week, Bair Heights, New Jersey
11:29 EST

Could they actually want me?

Akane carefully mouthed those words as she was walking away from the booth. They hadn't even asked her name or given theirs, yet... yet they seemed to earnestly request for her to join. She had no musical experience, no natural talent, yet he, the head of the Dedicated Guild of Musicians, thought she would be a good fit. Of all the clubs she talked to today, only he seemed to desire her presence. He and his soft brown curls, strong jaw, and piercing hazel eyes...

"No, stop it."

She said that aloud, perhaps too loud as others around her began to look around at the commotion. But Akane paid them no mind, she was used to their suspicious looks and glares. More important was the flier in her hand. It was a simple white piece of paper with the initials DGM in bright red ink. Above the logo was their motto, "It's impossible to achieve the aim without suffering". Something about that appealed to Akane. Certainly, she had suffered a lot recently, so maybe this was the world saying not to give up, to keep persevering? No, no, it couldn't be. It was too random, too circumstantial. The club leader couldn't have known about her past, couldn't have known to speak to her through these roundabout means. It must be a coincidence, and she was just fantasizing, Akane thought.

But he was nice wasn't he? Akane glanced back at the booth, silently watching the two boys sitting there talking and laughing. One was just finishing his meal of McDonalds.

Could they be talking about me, she thought. Maybe they were overlooking her plain appearance, her lack of talent, her dreary demeanor. Or maybe, maybe that's what they wanted in the first place. Maybe she fit in perfectly with the vision the boy had for his band. Forget that she has no experience, she can learn. She could meet new people, make new friends, have new hobbies, and learn new skills. After all, they don't know about her power do they? They don't know how evil she must certainly seem. She could leave behind the taunts and jeers and make a new life for herself here. Isn't that what high school is supposed to be about, anyways?

Akane turned around, clutching the flier. With thoughts racing through her head, she bolted out of the Welcoming Week plaza and to her dorm room. Akane didn't care if she was making a scene, for the first time in a long while she felt happy. She passed by many people who stopped to gawk at her, running through the school. Yet her thoughts were preoccupied on the club. What instrument would she play? What style do they perform in? Will she have enough money for lessons? What if the band leader was going to be her friend? What if he was just being nice to get her to join?

She stopped suddenly in front of her door, frozen in place.

"Of course, how could I be so stupid."

He was just acting that way to get people to his club. He didn't care about Akane in particular, just the club. When he would inevitably find out she was a lazy good-for-nothing with evil powers he'd kick her to the curb. There she went again, fantasizing about impossible things.

As all the hope and happiness slowly drained from her body, Akane balled up the flier and threw it at the door. Then she headed inside to cry.

 

[NinjaCow64]

Jeremy’s Bizarre Adventure – Lonely Hearts Club Band and Rock n Roll McDonalds

While Nathaniel and Juan continued to recruit for the DGM, a certain bizarrely dressed boy caught Nathaniel’s eye. He was wearing a heavily modified school uniform that was at least one size too big. The costume looked eerily familiar, he was sure he had seen that somewhere before, perhaps on some music discussion forum. Nathaniel’s intense stare was misinterpreted by Juan as a sign of interest.

“You know,” said Juan, “If you are interested in recruiting him, you should call him over. Hey! You, the guy with the chain! You want to join the DGM?” The student slowly, but confidently, walked over to the duo and stood in a way that would have been appropriate like he was pretending to be taller than his below average self.

“What is the DGM?” said the student in an oddly deep voice, like he was putting it on “Is it some sort of anime club?”

“No,” said Nathaniel “We’re the dedicated guild of musicians. You don’t need to know how to play anything, you can learn as you go.” In response to this, the student made an odd pose.

“Yare yare daze,” said the student “I don’t think I’m interested in joining the club. Unless you can teach me how to play JoJo's Music, like Roundabout.” Nathaniel’s mind recoiled in horror as he realised what this student shtick was. He was quite obviously a massive fan of that awful anime. Every single prog rock thread, every single bloody Youtube comment section they were there, spamming their obnoxious memes. It had almost ruined multiple songs for him, the sweet melody of Roundabout flooding his head was now forever tainted with a touch of bitterness.

Nathaniel was certain about one thing, at least. There was no way in hell he was letting this kid into his club.

“Ah,” Nathaniel said, bluffing “Unfortunately we only do Classical Music in this club, so you’re going to have to look elsewhere for that I’m afraid.”

“What? Don-” Juan was cut off by Nathaniel elbowing him, causing multiple McDonald’s fries to fall onto the table. “HEY! I WAS EATING THOSE!”

“Hmm.” said the obnoxious JoJo’s fan “That’s an interesting Stand you have there, allowing you to recall any music you’ve ever heard.” Nathaniel stared at him confusedly. “Your next line will be,” continued the obnoxious fan “How did you know about my power!?”

“How did you know about my power!?” Nathaniel said with shock. The shock doubled when he realised that his words had been predicted as well.

“My name is Jeremy Ford,” continued Jeremy “And my stand name is Greatest View. It allows me to predict future actions taken by other persons, including stand powers. That was why I was able to determine the ability of your Lonely Hearts Club Band.”

“Don’t just give our powers names like in your stupid anime!” Nathaniel said angrily.

“Yare yare daze.” Jeremy said in heavily accented Japanese.

“What’s a stand?” said Juan, as he picked up his fries from the table.

“It’s the manifestation of the user’s fighting spirit.” explained Jeremy “They originated from JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, the greatest manga and anime ever produced. They are essentially super powers.”

“Riiiiight.” said Juan, still confused.

“Are you, by any chance, Juan Gállasco?” asked Jeremy.

“Yes. Why do you ask?” Juan responded.

“I saw your Stand, Rock n Roll McDonalds, in the news a while back.” said Jeremy. “Its a pretty interesting stand.”

“Thank…you?” Juan continued, obviously not understanding what was going on. Juan didn’t even know what an anime was, if he was being perfectly honest.

“I must depart now,” said Jeremy “As your friend would say, I need to go signup to my stupid anime club.” With a flick of his coat, he walked towards the anime stand.

After he was out of earshot, Juan asked “What was that guy’s deal?”

“You have no idea,” said Nathaniel “How big of a bullet we dodged today.”

****************
​

With thanks to James and Reus. I'd like to eventually have a Bizarre Adventure with the entirety of the school, so if you have any ideas about your character interacting with Jeremy then hit me up on the Discord!

 

[NinjaCow64]

Two for the price of one!

****************
​

Jeremy’s Bizarre Adventure – High Hopes

After signing up for the anime club, Jeremy walked down the corridor, exploring the school with the hundreds of other eager students. Jeremy was super excited, so many stand users! He didn’t think that even Jotaro had met so many stand users in his entire lifetime. He couldn’t wait to meet them all and name their stands and – Jeremy’s train of thought was interrupted by him absentmindedly bumping into another student, a girl. She was a lot shorter than him, which was a little surprising honestly.

“Sorry, miss.” Jeremy said, looking at the girl. Upon recognising who she was, he made a horrified face and said “N-nani!?”. It was Heidi Ackermann, the infamous stand user of Liechtenstein! According to leaks from her handlers, her stand High Hopes could drain the motivation out of people! High Hopes was near the top of stands he vowed to avoid – what if it drained out his love for JoJo’s!? Jeremy, before Heidi could react, jumped back a significant distance.

“H-HEIDI ACKERMANN!” Jeremy said loudly, drawing attention to himself. Heidi looked at him, incredibly confused. “D-don’t use your stand, High Hopes, on me! My Greatest View will be able to tell! If you do…I’ll…I’ll tell the teachers on you!” This bizarre outburst drew a lot of blank stares from the crowd.

“There’s only one way out of this situation…” said Jeremy quietly to himself. “I must use the ancient Joestar family technique! HASHIRU DAI YO!!!” Jeremy screamed that last part in heavily accented Japanese as he ran as fast as he could away from Heidi and around a corner. The crowd trained their eyes on him, too distracted by Jeremy’s enormous outburst to pay attention to Heidi. After he was out of eyesight, they began to disperse. Heidi herself just stood, dumbfounded.

“What on Earth is a stand?” asked Heidi to herself, in her native German.

 

[Seon]

Name

Cassandra Forthright

Age

15

Gender

Not male

Place of Birth

Grand Rapids, Michigan

Height

169 cm

Weight

48 kg


Appearance: Bubbly, short-ish girl (for a meta-human) with starry eyes and non-regulation clothing. Sleek, aerodynamic body without extraneous curves (or so she insists). Faint freckles across the nose.


She has a thin, wiry frame that allows her to tuck into tight spaces with camera in hand.


Costume: Reporter’s cap and spectacles are all she needs. She doesn’t actually need the glasses, but insists that it makes her look ‘more respectable,’ and you don’t enter a battlefield without all the preparations, silly!


Personality: A nosy girl that can’t seem to take no for an answer. Master of pretending to be innocent. She asks probing questions, and seem easily overtaken by emotions (or at least, is very good at exaggerating).


She is somewhat of a tease, enjoying employing double entendres and erotic jokes in her normal day to day speech with big, silly innocent smile on her face. She is a glass cannon in this regard--anyone who can tease right back will see her become red in the face and storm off.


She has a fascination with space and scandals, and actively digs through information on both for her school gossip column.


Background: Rescued by Blitzen some time ago, all she ever dreamed about was joining the Academy to be part of the glamorous lives of superheroes. As it happened, she was one of the 2% who could.


Talents: She seems to be a good hummer.


She seems to have a talent in handling machinery and technology, although not to an extranormal extent.


Knows a lot about modern day pop music and heroes.


She seems to be very good at making other people uncomfortable.


Likes:

-Commander Blitzen

“He’s a hero, and he saved my life!”

-Pop songs

“I won’t apologize, dear.”

-Erotic literature and manga

“Where do you think I get all my jokes from?”

-Big ass swords

“They are dreamy, especially the ones with two quillons terminating in ball-things, whatever it’s called. They are great for hitting people with.”


Dislikes:

-Jin Wushima

“That intolerable infernal siren needs to get the hell away from me.”

-Trudine

“Do you guys know what she did?”

-Guns

“Sorry guys, but I think guns need to stay in your pockets for now.”


Threat Level: 5


Spin artist (minor telekinesis): She can make objects in her hand spin or otherwise behave in unnatural manners. She uses it for coin tricks.


Electives: How lewd, to want to know a girl’s schedule.


Come to think of it, has anyone ever seen her in class? Reporter’s work must be busy.


Clubs: Hero Club (only occasionally shows up). Newspaper Club


Blood Type: A


Themes: Wolves

 

[Omega124]

“Warum bin ich hier?”

Heid sighed as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone, sitting down next to a half-finished burrito. Not even the sensation of this unique food in America brought any intense emotion to the metahuman, as she was maybe hoping it could possibly have. Heidi couldn’t deny the craftsmanship that went into the preparation of the food, not at all, but it wasn’t doing anything for her. It was just, fundamentally, food, and it just frustrated the raventette that she couldn’t find any enjoyment out of it.

Nor was anything really interesting was on Heidi’s screen. It was the same inane crap: gossip about the superhero flavor of the month, people sharing the same gifs over and over again, and perhaps the one or two articles about whatever mess was going on throughout the European Union (as her circle of friends on social media are still mostly from Europe) that evidently was never going to be actually solved. It was just a banal ritual the metahuman forced herself to go through everyday, like if she was somehow hoping combing through social media might unlock a purpose for her life or something.

The Liechtensteiner just tapped her phone screen off, and bitterly sighed as she buried her head into her arms. Like she asked herself before, why was she here? She would rather be almost literally anywhere else besides this stupid institution, forced to continue to use this… curse that was entrusted onto her by nothing more than fate.

“Beep beep, coming through people!”

The few people wandering around the student union jumped aside, expecting a teacher pushing a large cart or something similar, only to be more confused as what appeared to be an oversized reptile scooted by kneeling on a swivel chair. Grinning mischievously, Li Zhang San kicked off against the ground to get her momentum going, holding her arms out like she was on a surfboard as she sailed past confused onlookers and annoyed faculty members.

“Don’t mind me, just touring the facility!” she announced gleefully to the latter group, most of whom were wondering where the swivel chair even came from and were considering bolting them to the floor if the rest of the new students were like this one. “Man this is great,” Li announced as she came to a stop, spinning in the chair like a top. “I hope every chair in the place is like this one! Hm, what’s that?”

Li sniffed the air, catching the scent of something spicy lying on a desk nearby. She almost made a beeline towards it before spotting Heidi lying with her head in her arms at the table. Catching one of her forlorn sighs, Li grinned again, kicking off towards the girl and scooting along behind her.

“Hey there!” the lizard girl announced, leaning against the back of the chair like she was a swinger at a dive bar. “Nǐ cháng lái zhè’er ma?” This turned out to not be one of her best ideas when she rapidly lost her balance and toppled backwards off the chair with a crash.

Heidi jerked up as she thought someone was calling out for her. Spinning her head around, she saw some reptilian-like humanoid surfing on a stolen swivel chair, just having a complete blast with herself before inadvertently crashing into the ground.

The Liechtensteiner glanced at her unfinished burrito, before looking back at the lizard on the ground. Was there something in the food that was causing her to hallucinate? It’s not everyday that one sees an anthropomorphic reptile walking -- or chair surfing in this case -- around like a complete moron.

Then again, its not like the ravenette hasn’t heard of stranger mutations for metahumans than appearing like humanoid animals. Probably would be far more likely to assume that the lizard girl was just another student, albeit a really… eccentric one to say the least.

Heidi got up from her seat and approached the other student on the ground. She didn’t really know what to say or even what to do, so she just awkwardly stared at the lizard, concern emanating from her eyes.

“.........”

“Oof...I think I broke my ego…” Li mumbled, untangling herself from the heap she was in and pushing herself to a sitting position. “Buuuuut now that I have your attention...hi! I’m Li, Li Zhang San!” she announced with a triumphant grin, holding out her hand for a shake.

“Oh…” Heidi said, attempting to size up Li now that she was in front of her. Li was shorter than Heidi by a few centimeters, but easily made up for it with a much more imposing bulk compared to the lanky black haired girl. Heidi felt almost terrified in the coming realization; that girl could likely easily rip her into shreds, if it wasn’t for her own physics defying powers.

Heidi awkwardly stared at Li’s hand as she pushed it forward, presumably for a handshake. Even ignoring the giant, razor-sharp claws protruding from Li, the Liechtensteiner just did not feel comfortable with physical contact with strangers in general. Or, any kind of contact at all, to be quite honest.

A few miserable seconds passed, before Heidi mumbled, “I’m… Heidi Ackermann.”

“Oh, very nice to meet you!” Li smiled, taking Heidi’s shyness in stride as she jumped to her feet. “Sorry if I weirded you out at all, unfortunate side effect of all this.” Li gestured to her scales and swung her hips a bit to show off her tail. “I just got here for the first time today, are you one of the new students too?”

“Y-yeah,” Ackermann forced herself to respond to Li, “I just got here too…”

Heidi’s eyes immediately dropped onto the floor. “So… what do you want, Li?”

“Well...mostly just to say hi!” Li said, giving her a toothy smile. “There’s a bunch of really cool people around here, and I want to meet them all!” Scooching slightly to the left, she stomped on one of the legs of the overturned swivel chair to flip it back to position, moving it back and forth cautiously to make sure it still worked.

“If you’re looking for the cool people,” Heidi remorsefully retorted, “it’s not me. I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to have this curse. I just wish I was home.”

Heidi returned back to her seat at the table, hoping that the lizard lady would just leave her alone. Of all the people she had to harass, why did it have to be her? At this point, maybe she should just try to quickly finish her lunch and try to rush back to her dorm before some other creep takes notice of her….

Li’s tail drooped slightly at Heidi’s declaration, but she decided to keep up appearances regardless. Remounting the swivel chair on her knees, she tested the rollers before preparing to roll off again.

“Well, I think you’re pretty neat, if it means anything!” Li said cheerfully, pushing off on the ground to get rolling again. “I got a swivel tour to take, so I’m off See you later Heidi!” The lizard girl gave a friendly wave as she rolled around the corner and out of sight, on her way to cause even more mischief then before.

Heidi groaned as she saw Li finally chair surfed away from her, letting the depressed girl return back to piece. She took one more flavorless bite out of her burrito, slowly yet futility trying to extract any enjoyment out of the food. Deciding she wasn’t going to get anything more out of it, Heidi simply just wrapped it back into its foil and sulked off back to her dorm, intentionally picking the opposite direction that Li was traveling in.

 

[Seon]

Meteor Blitz! Gossip Column

Welcome to Tyler Roman Academy, kinders. Have you eaten your breakfast cereals? Hero-flakes probably full of god-knows-what nutritional supplements and anomalous tracking beacons? Eaten your bacon burrito because you are Americans and by God, Americans will put bacon in everything? Great! Perfect! Nice to hear that you are having a wonderful morning.

As for me, I'm currently trapped in an air vent between the second and third floor of the academy while writing this article because some idiot decided to turn on the AC despite it being September, and the fans are on. If you see another news article from me tomorrow, you'll know that I haven't either frozen to death or chopped apart by the fans like sushi at a market.

I'm just kidding, please turn off the AC. I don't have my phone with me, and my writer's laptop can only access the electronic newspaper. Please, send help.

Anyways, onto the actually important stuff.


We are getting a whole bunch of new students this year! Quite a few famous or, rather, infamous faces among them. There's the McDonald's sponsored kid despite the fact that Burger Kings are clearly the superior franchise. Ah, wait, excuse me.

Burger Kings would like to remind my readers that the most important meal of the day is breakfast. I'm currently trapped in the air vents because I decided to see if I can get a shot of the mathematics and the gym teacher having an illicit and scandalous tryst in lieu of getting breakfast, so I can assure you that this statement is true. So since breakfast is the most important meal of the day, why would you let it go by with sad little breakfast burritos and cereals that they serve in this academy?

Why not, instead, stare deeply into the mirror until you can no longer recognize the face that stares back at you? A face that mimics your every gesture, mocking your every movement? How else will you get the energy to move unless you are screaming silently into the visage of a man or a woman that gives you such silent terror whenever you make the connection between what you are and what you are becoming?

What have you become?

Where does it all end? Where do you end? When do you end? What time is it now? You are late for class! You are lying on the floor, half-dressed in a sludge of hair gel and toothpaste. You've been crying, but for how long?

Eat at Burger Kings. Have it your way. This has been sponsored messages.


Back to the gossip at hand. We have a lot of famous and infamous people in the school this year, like some God decided to shove a bunch of misfits into the school as a menagerie of half-villains and deviants. Like Jin Wushima, who's literally an intolerable infernal siren from hell. That girl that held up a school and threatened to blow up bombs in Grand Rapids? We have her here too. A gang leader from the south or something like that? Have him too. We even have a daughter of some people--I don't even remember what they did or what their names were--who are apparently famous enough that she needs special accommodations. Rita's the name, I think. Sweet girl though. And then we have Cyril, who's some kind of, I dunnow, assassin? He should join the newspaper club. I bet he'll be good at crawling through the airvents and, by Jove, it's getting really cold in here and it would be nice to have someone who could,

you know.

Warm me up.

Anyways, that's it for my column. If I'm not dead tomorrow, you'll hear more from me.

Love, Cassandra Forthright